taking-off--it seemed sudden, as all deaths do--of Thomas Jefferson
was hard to bear. Strange how blank a space one great, white rooster
can leave behind him!

The yard and the orchard seemed full of blank spaces, though in a way
Thomas Jefferson's soul seemed to frequent his old beloved haunts.
Rebecca Mary could not see it pecking daintily about, but she felt it
was there.

"His soul isn't dead," she persisted, gently. She clung to the
comfort of that. And one morning she thought she heard again Thomas
Jefferson's old, cheery greeting to the sunrise. The sound she thought
she heard woke her instantly. Was it Thomas Jefferson's soul crowing?

"Aunt Olivia isent sorry," chronicled the diary, sadly. "Prehaps shes
glad. Once she wished the Lord had forgot to create roosters. But she
was ever kind to Tomas Jefferson, considdering the seeds he scrached
up. That was his besittingest sin and I know he is sorry now. I wish
Aunt Olivia was sorry."

Nothing was ever said between the two about Rebecca Mary's loss, but
Aunt Olivia recognized the keenness of it to the child. She worried
a little about it; it reminded her of that other time of worry when
Rebecca Mary and she had nearly starved. Sheets and roosters--there
were so many worries in the world.

That other time she went to the minister, this time to the minister's
wife. One afternoon she went and carried her work.

"You know about children," she began, without loss of time. "What